Seasons

I remember walking this valley as green blooms, morning to morning

as heat pounds and the shade is cool like wading in the lake

as leaves crunch in the gravel at my feet

as snow blows, turning the hills white

I remember walking and breathing air

soft, heavy, fragrant, harsh 

breathing deeper and harder

as minutes turn to hours

breathing deep and simple 

as hours turn to days

breathing

Eight weeks ago I stopped walking

"you can get crutches at the pharmacy" she'd said

and that was that

no more walking

with a broken ankle

Two weeks ago I thought, only two more weeks

but this morning at the doctor's 

"two more weeks" she says

and that is that

no more walking

Just swinging along the side-walk on my crutches

crawling up stairs on my hands and knees

hobbling in the kitchen with a chair

hopping from my bed to dresser

And I'm not sure where I'm going with this poem

"what is the lesson I should learn?" I ask

Janet, my sister-in-law, who sees me 

from her office window at the All Nations Healing Hospital

and runs to open the door for me

"More and more I'm learning that life is about seasons,"

she says after we've talked about my Moira and Victoria's drama

at the Cathedral Village Arts Festival

and little Lanelle not closing the pen

letting loose the sheep and llamas on the lawn

We stand in the sunshine outside the hospital

Janet on two feet, me on my crutches

talking about newborn lambs

and the kindness of nurses and doctors

While people of all nations are breathing by us

each in his or her own season

even as the spring earth is ploughed for flower beds

beside the emergency doors of the hospital